


And why the sea is boiling hot

by LydiaFearing



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Buster is a menace, Cannibalism, Dogs, First Meetings, Fluff, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal is Hannibal, Happy Will Graham, He's not in the FBI, M/M, Meet-Cute, Top Will Graham, and is happier and healthier this way, farmers market AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-11-08 23:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17990228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaFearing/pseuds/LydiaFearing
Summary: Hannibal is having a bad morning so he tries to cheer himself up with shopping at the farmers' market and ends up meeting an intriguing fisherman who is bad at eye contact.A relatively fluffy AU where everyone is the same except Will became a fisherman after leaving the police and recently moved to Baltimore (for reasons I will never explain). Having never joined the FBI in any capacity, Will is happier, healthier and a lot less defensive. Hannibal is still Hannibal so... not pure fluff.





	1. One

Hannibal arrived at the farmers’ market on a late Spring morning… not angry. Nothing as uncontrolled as that but in an unusually tumultuous mood.

Last night should have been his first night of hunting in almost eight months. The pig he had meticulously stalked for the last two weeks was an accountant and gym enthusiast who had loudly and aggressively bemoaned that he had to share a swimming pool with people he deemed too un-American to be clean. Said pig had left town yesterday for an unknown length of time on a spontaneous bender to Las Vegas. It was frustrating for a number of reasons. For the wasted time. For the need to make changes to his planned menu for a dinner party in two days. The worst of it, however, was the inevitable damage to the meat that was no doubt occurring at that very moment. By the time that pig could be butchered, the liver would be inedible.

Reading TattleCrime that morning had also been galling as Freddie Lounds had written a piece all but declaring that the FBI believed the Minnesota Shrike to be the same person as the Chesapeake Ripper. Lounds’ talent for finding out information she shouldn’t know and just inventing the rest meant he couldn’t be sure how much of that was true. The FBI was ignorant, no doubt, but that they could confuse such sentimental work with his art was insulting.

All in all, it added up to a constant, low level of frustration. If Hannibal closed his car door with slightly more force than necessary, it was a tiny enough lapse of control that even his colleagues and peers would not have been able to tell.

It was a surprisingly cool morning though beautifully bright. He took a moment to put on soft leather gloves and appreciate the sounds and smells of the market. He was determined that procuring the best quality ingredients to create a new menu would be the perfect way to alleviate his bad mood.

Turning his head, he spotted a little Jack Russell mix urinating on his back tyre. The dog waddled off at speed into the thick of the stalls once it had relieved itself. There were not supposed to be pets at this particular market, whoever owned the mutt clearly felt that rule did not apply to them. Hannibal composed his face into his best relaxed smile, confident that he’d leave later with the name of a new pig.

 

It quickly became clear that the little dog was notorious. There were no reports of bad behaviour per se but it wandered the market at will with little regard to where it should or should not be. As a result, nearly every stall-holder had met it before. A few purchases and polite enquiries later and Hannibal had a name. Will Graham. One of the fishermen who sold his catch only on Wednesdays and Saturdays.

Felicity, an older woman who had sold Hannibal some beautiful rhubarb, mentioned he was new to the area and sympathetically described him as “a quiet boy.”

“He seems friendlier with dogs than people. Maybe a bit…”

She made a vague hand gesture that, in Hannibal’s experience, could mean anything from having a learning difficulty, being autistic, being effeminate or a dozen other things deemed “not normal.”

“Most of us don’t mind about the dogs. Only that small one is a bit of a nuisance, the others are real well-behaved. He’s a nice boy.”

Having just finished serving another customer, her husband chimed in.

“You changed your tune since he flashed a smile as you the other day. She used to call him a lot worse. But she’s always been weak for a pretty face,” he added with a smirk.

Felicity met this accusation with a dignified silence and then pointed out which end of the fish stalls Graham could be found.

“He has at least four dogs, you can’t miss them.”

 

Hannibal kept Graham’s stall in his line of sight as he lingered by a stand of flowers. He needed something beautiful and vital to incorporate into a centrepiece.

Whether or not he would have a fresh pig to slaughter, a few things left in his freezer meant at least a small amount of long pig be offered up at the party. The true delight would be the presence of Jack Crawford and his wife, Phyllis. His Bella.

Hannibal’s old colleague and friend, Alana Bloom had been brought in as a consultant on the Shrike case and had introduced them. There was a possibility of Hannibal being brought in eventually, as they continued to stumble in the dark and young women disappeared with greater frequency. If Lounds was right about their current theory, they would need as much help at they could get. The thought of peeking behind the curtain of the FBI while ingratiating himself with the man who sent Miriam Lass to his doorstep nearly made him giddy.

He settled on a bouquet of red Amaryllis belladonna. For pride.

The day was looking up.

From what Hannibal could see of Graham, he was a man in his thirties and dressed as one might expect of an unsociable fisherman. He did have a number of dogs at his feet. They were visible as they shifted about behind the stall, tails wagging and noses nudging their owner looking for attention. Graham didn’t look out at the attending crowd, he didn’t try to lure in any buyers with shouted deals or small talk. He seemed to sit back and allow customers to come to him. Though not the most popular seller by far, he seemed to do a decent trade. Though he didn’t invite interest to himself, when someone asked him a question it seemed to inevitably end in a large sale.

Hannibal decided to work up to Will Graham. He was tempted into buying live blue crabs from another stall. He took six, which sat angrily in plastic bag with their pincers held shut with rubber bands. Serving them whole at dinner would be inelegant but he could think of a few options for crab meat in an amuse-bouche or perhaps for some canapés as guests arrived.

It was as he slowly made his way towards Graham’s stall, past displays of fresh clams, black drum and bluefish when he was confronted by the man himself.

“Sir, excuse me.” 

Will Graham strode up to Hannibal with aggressive determination, hands deep in his jacket pockets, frowning behind his glasses. His eyes did not quite meet Hannibal’s own.

“Did you buy blue crabs from Fred Astor? The stall with the pretentious sign?”

Surprised by the sudden attention of Graham and annoyed by his attitude, Hannibal's instinct was to make his face blank and hide any sign of what he really was.

“May I ask why that is any of your business?”

“That’s a fair question.” Graham took a step back, raising his gloved hands in silent apology as though realising that he had approached this interaction badly. He made the effort of actually meeting Hannibal’s eyes briefly before staring just above them.

“I swear, I’m not trying to make a sale. It’s just… whatever Astor may have said, I know for a fact he doesn’t care where he catches them. If they’re from the Patapsco River, and I’d bet they are, they aren’t safe to eat. I’ll trade you the same number of my own catch, no charge.”

Hannibal considered for a moment. He had, in fact, asked where the crabs had been caught and been reassured that they were from an area less affected by human interference. Allowing himself to think over the interaction, the seller had said all this with the quick, self-assurance of a habitual liar. He had no trouble believing Graham but why it would be a concern to the man remained to be seen.

“That is very conscientious of you,” Hannibal said, as warm and polite as he could manage. Surprisingly, Graham was still able to pick up on Hannibal’s suspicion.

“I get it, you’ve no real reason to trust me. Ask any of the other fish stalls about Astor.”

Will Graham nodding at the nearest seller, a large middle aged man whose smile demonstrated his lack of teeth. He had been watching the conversation and gave a nod to Hannibal.

“Astor’s a real piece of shit.”

Charming.

“He has a reputation,” Graham said. “If I’m right, and I think I am, they might not make you sick straight away but it starts a build up of polychlorinated biphenyls. Could have some serious health problems down the line. You feed them to your wife, your kids, all the more likely to hurt somebody.”

An unusual fisherman. He didn’t reference “toxins” or “chemicals” or as Astor himself had put it, “Any of that bad shit.” Graham referenced the specific compound polluting certain local areas of water.

“If this is true, it shouldn’t be your responsibility to resolve this. I could confront this Astor and ask for my money back.”

“I would usually tell folks they wouldn’t have a chance in hell of doing that but you do give me the impression you can be especially intimidating when you want to be. Maybe you could even scare him.”

Hannibal blinked at that. He had been, he believed, perfectly contained in what Bedelia called his person suit. His clothes and hair were pristine, his arms were full of flowers and fresh vegetables. He should be the picture of a fussy, domestic and eccentric foreigner.

“Still, it would use up more of your morning and would cause a scene. It would get… vulgar. I’m not going sell all my catch today anyway. This would be an easier solution.”

“While I have no wife or children to worry over, I am careful about what I put in my body and what I feed others at my table. I would appreciate the trade, Mr…?

“Graham. You can just call me Will. I’m just down here.”

Hannibal followed him to his stall and passed over the bag of crabs.

“You have a cooler in your car?”

“Unfortunately, no. I don’t have one with me today. They were an impulsive buy.”

“A moment of whimsy?” Graham said with a small smile. “Well, if you have one at home it’ll be the best place to store these guys until you’re ready to cook them.”

Will counted the crabs Hannibal had been given and gathered up the same number of his own and one extra which he placed in a box with two handfuls of chipped ice and a few small damps cloths placed over the creatures.

“This should do in the mean time. I imagine you live in a nicer part of town than this and traffic will pick up soon. Best to keep them cool for the ride. You have your arms pretty full, I can bring this over to your car if you like.”

Will Graham met his eyes again, this time with a true smile. Neat white teeth and laugh lines. Felicity’s husband had a point, Will had an exceptionally pretty face. Under the glasses, the atrocious beanie and the short beard were the exquisite features of a Botticelli.

“That would be extremely helpful, thank you.”

As Hannibal unlocked the car, Will laughed.

“Of course it’s a Bentley,” he said, shaking his head.

“And that’s amusing?” Hannibal asked, unable to resist a smile of his own.

“You’re wearing a three piece suit to buy groceries. I’m laughing at myself because I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

“Not all of us can look as handsome as you in a salt-stained jacket.”

Will froze, having just placed the box of live crabs into the trunk of the car. A faint blush clearly visible. He straightened up and his eyes lingered on the frame of his glasses rather than on Hannibal’s face. He mumbled an embarrassed thanks and held out a hand to take more of Hannibal’s cargo from him. When everything was neatly arranged in the car, Hannibal closed the trunk and shook Will’s hand.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Will.”

The strange thing was that it was true. Hannibal wondered why he found this man interesting. By all account, even a kind stranger wouldn’t usually intrigue him. Perhaps part of it was that he seemed to read Hannibal better than he should be able to. Perhaps another part was that he clearly was not avoiding eye contact because he felt compelled to as someone on the autistic spectrum would. It seemed to have more of a purpose.

“I wonder if I could ask another favour.”

Will shrugged, clearly uncomfortable but unwilling to be rude.

“What do you need?”

Will froze again as Hannibal’s hands went to either side of his face. He delicately grasped the frames of his glasses and removed them. Will frowned at him. Directly at him. His blue eyes were uncovered and uninhibited. Angry and beautiful.

“That was rude, Mr… ?”

“Dr Hannibal Lecter. Forgive me, you clearly aren’t a fan of eye contact but it was too tempting. What I need is some advice. I am hosting a dinner party on Friday, I’ve realised oysters would be a perfect way to start the meal. I would of course want them as fresh as possible, would you be able to help me with that?”

“I don’t sell here on Fridays, I supply a local restaurant that day. Not oysters though so it shouldn’t be a problem to supply you too. I can deliver them to you on Friday afternoon.”

Hannibal leaned in, just past the bubble of Will’s personal space. He watched the flinch it caused, he smelled the bitter tang of increased anxiety.

“That would be wonderful, Will. I would, of course, be happy to pay the necessary charges for such attentive service.”

Will cleared his throat with embarrassment, his eyes glancing off of Hannibal briefly until he brought them back again. He was clearly annoyed at himself for almost failing the challenge Hannibal was setting him. Brave boy.

“How many would you need?”

“Eight guests, let’s say four each.”

“And you. I’ll include extra in case some are smaller than you expect. I bet you don’t like things being less than perfect. Let’s say forty. If I struggle to meet demand, I can buy from some of the more trustworthy guys here. I’ll contact you if there are any problems.”

“That sounds perfect, Will. Wait a moment and I’ll give you my details.”

Hannibal offered Will back his glasses which he put back on with a huff. Hannibal removed a business card from his pocket and added his home address and cellphone number to the back.

“Feel free to use my personal number if there are any issues.”

Will stared at the front of the card.

“You’re a psychiatrist.”

“From that tone, you’ve had therapy before.”

Will pocketed the card and gave a humourless chuckle.

“Therapy doesn’t agree with me. Oh, God…”

Will lunged past Hannibal and scooped up the Jack Russell terror from earlier.

“I’m sorry, Buster here hasn’t settled since we moved. He likes to wander off. Trouble is if I tie him up, he barks all day. I’m not sure but he may have…”

“Don’t worry, Will. No harm done, I’m sure.”

After the first incident, he had planned to get the car washed regardless.

“Okay. Um, I’ll see you on Friday then.”

“Wonderful. And if I could ask one more favour?”

“Sure?” Will tucked the little dog under one arm and waited.

“The man who sold me those crabs, if he has business cards, could you procure one for me? I wouldn’t want to forget his name and make the same mistake again.”

Will hesitated, looking at Hannibal with a searching look that cut through him more than he expected. He really was an interesting boy.

“I have my doubts you forget much of anything, Dr Lecter, but sure. He has them, I’ll bring one with me.”

“Thank you, Will. And please, call me Hannibal.”

Will gave a nod and went back towards his stall.

On the drive home Hannibal decided it had been exactly the trip he needed to lift his mood. A new menu was coming together in his mind, he’d soon be adding Astor’s card to his rolodex of ingredients and he had a brand new puzzle named Will Graham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to be writing a different fic I started months ago but here we are. 
> 
> Although I doubt this is what anyone had in mind, this fic was entirely inspired by a photoset by @Sirenja_ on twitter. You should follow them there and/or on Tumblr. 
> 
> By next week, I hope a second chapter with some smooching will have happened. Maybe more than smooching. I'm not sure so will add a rating at that point.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't love a dinner party? 
> 
> Will. 
> 
> Will doesn't.

Will was not willing to think about why he was wearing one of his better button-down shirts just to deliver oysters. There was nothing to think about, after all. It was business and if he wanted to get more business, he needed to make a good impression. Dr Lecter had clearly been wealthy. Not many folks at the market wear leather gloves that exactly match the shade of their shoes. Not many folks even wear a tie for that matter.

That wealth was all the more obvious from the view of his truck parked on Chandler Square. He was surrounded by houses normal people only saw in glossy magazines. This was a place where Will definitely did not belong. If he had turned up dressed like he was setting out on his boat, some curtain twitching neighbour would probably call the cops and wouldn’t that have made for a fun Friday night.

It was perfectly reasonable for him to have put on one of his better shirts and his only decent pair of pants.

Perfectly reasonable.

It was harder to think of a good reason that he had spent the last ten minutes squeezing the life out of his steering wheel rather than just going to the damn front door and ringing the bell.

The front door opened.

Dr Hannibal Lecter stood in the doorway. Waistcoat, no jacket, shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow. A polite, blank face, his head tilted to one side as though asking Will what he was doing.

He was laughing at him.

To anyone else maybe he would look concerned. Distant but kind. Anyone else wouldn’t see through the mask quite so easily. Will always saw more than other people.

He grit his teeth and left the front of his truck, slamming the door and striding around to the back to pick up the first box of oysters. By the time he made it to the front door, Dr Lecter’s polite mask cracked a hairline with a visible upturn to one side of his mouth.

“Will, thank you for coming.”

The kitchen was all dark wood and stainless steel. It was the only kitchen Will had ever seen with a bookcase, armchair and classical paintings on the wall. A professional standard of equipment and not just for show.

Will retrieved the second box of oysters and set it on the counter with the first.

“I put plenty of ice in these assuming you wouldn’t have enough room in your refrigerator but from the look of that thing, you just might. If you bear with me and don’t mind me using your sink now, I’ll start shucking these for you.”

Hannibal gave a nod of acknowledgment while tying an apron on himself.

“Thank you, Will. If that is an imposition, I am capable of doing so myself. I am quite skilled with a knife.”

“I don’t doubt your capability but you could save some time and your hands. I’m sure you have other things to do.”

Will set down a sheathed oyster knife he had kept in his pocket and began to unfasten the straps securing the boxes. Hannibal produced another dark blue apron from somewhere and folded it over his arm. He looked as though he was going to offer it to Will and then pulled back ever so slightly, apparently changing his mind. Will had no doubt this was a performance.

“Your assistance would be most welcome but I have one condition.”

Of course.

“For allowing me the privilege of assisting you?”

“It is a high honour to be part of this kitchen,” Lecter said, polite and blank-faced again. He was being playful. Will almost laughed. 

“Okay, then. What’s the condition?”

“You must be able to partake of your hard work. You will join my dinner party tonight.”

This time, the laugh couldn’t be stopped.

“Very funny, doc.”

“It’s not a joke, Will. I imagine you made your delivery to the restaurant you supply earlier today? If you have the time, one of my guests has unfortunately fallen ill and cannot attend. You would be doing me a great favour.”

“Don’t be coy, Dr Lecter. You call it a favour but I’m supposed to see it as a reward. If it’s an honour to be in your kitchen, I’m sure eating at your table is just as coveted a prize. But that’s not a reward to me. Being stuck in a room with your friends isn’t my idea of a good time. Doing a menial task on your behalf does not make me indebted to you so I think I’ll pass.”

Lecter downright grinned.

“Don’t do yourself a disservice, Will. Menial would imply there was no skill in what you do and I doubt that very much. Many chefs would struggle to do the task well. Perhaps it was wrong of me to couch the offer as I did but it was, in its way, truthful. You would be doing me a favour. I understand that contending with forty reluctant oyster shells is a more appealing task to you than spending your evening trapped in an unknown social situation. Tell me, would I be correct in thinking that if I insisted you left now and abandon me to the task of preparing these myself, it would not sit well with you? Would you go home and think of hands cut to shreds by lack of expertise? Would you have visions of me, abject and alone in my kitchen, awaiting judgement from my guests? A social humiliation?”

Will took a moment to picture it.

“At worst, you’d just serve them something else,” Will said with more confidence than he felt.

“Most likely,” Lecter conceded. “And wouldn’t that be a waste. Are you staying or going, Will?”

Will played with the knife in his hand. Being manipulated openly wasn’t much better than being manipulated discreetly.

“A party may require me to be sociable.”

Hannibal held out the second apron.

“I have every faith in you, Will.”  


Shucking oysters was no problem. It had been years since a shell had given him trouble and they all turned out to be a good size. Will even helped with the other prep for them, peeling lychees and cutting out their stones while Dr Lecter made a sauce and another eight things at the same time. As little as Will cared for fancy cuisine, hearing the logic behind the menu was interesting. It also painted the doctor as more than a gourmand, a hedonist too. Enjoyment was his motivation in everything. Flavour. Aesthetics. Even social history and expectation. He enjoyed detailing how both oysters and lobsters were food of the working classes if not the downright poor.

“For some, the idea of consuming a luxury takes priority over their actual enjoyment.”

“That doesn’t seem your style,” Will replied, washing his hands and waiting for further instruction.

Hannibal passed him a glass of white wine.

“Rarity is something to be appreciated, of course. It has value. As does anything being of high quality. But expense in itself does not interest me.”

“It bores you. Extravagance for your own sake is one thing, to impress others or society at large would be vulgar.”

“Yes. While it offends you.”

“I grew up poor. Waste offends me.”

“Well, we have oysters to spare and some time yet until my other guests arrive.”

Lecter removed four of the opened oysters from the ice, placing them on a plate by Will’s elbow and squeezing half a lemon over them.  

“Shall we indulge?” he asked, lifting a half-shell toward his own mouth.

Will took a deep gulp of wine before copying him. He pointedly looked away from Lecter as he heard him swallow. He ignored the feeling of eyes on him as he ate his own and quickly chased the taste of the sea and citrus with another gulp of wine.

“I’m being somewhat unoriginal with the choice of a Muscadet. A classic pairing for oysters. From the Loire Valley.”

Will shrugged.

“Some things are classics for a reason, I guess.”

That seemed to please Lecter who smiled and ate his second oyster. Will hadn’t meant to watch his throat move or his tongue licking his lips afterwards.

“When you’re finished with your share, you can take a seat here or perhaps you would be more comfortable in the living room. I will be serving drinks and canapés before dinner. I’ve already dealt with the crabs you provided.”

“Which reminds me, here’s Fred’s business card. In case you forget to avoid him, I guess. I think I’ll stay here. I’d like to delay socialising as much as possible. You don’t mind me watching you work?”

“Of course not.”

“Not sure why I asked. You’re a text book narcissist.”

“Now Will, that was rude.” 

“True though. From what I’ve seen so far, you have every reason to be.” 

Will swallowed his second oyster before sitting in the armchair, not willing to see just how offended Lecter was. Or flattered. Worst case scenario, he’d retract his invite to dinner. Will tried to convince himself that was also the best case scenario.  
  


It could have been worse. Seven strangers was far from ideal but luckily the first to arrive was an old colleague of Dr Lecter’s. Alana Bloom was close to Will’s age, dark-haired, pretty and obviously kind. Unfortunately, she was another psychiatrist which was clear from her quick analysis of Will’s discomfort. When Lecter dragged him out to greet her, she had the good grace not to force eye contact when introductions were made. It was also pleasing that she asked for a beer with a mischievous smile. He left the room with a sigh.

Alana whispered conspiratorially, “He started brewing his own because of me. Couldn’t bear to have store-bought in his house but he’s too good a host not to provide something. Apparently this is the only way to be sure it can meet his own high standards.”

The swiftness of Lecter returning with a full glass made it clear he had expected this to happen. A regular game for them.

“So, Will, I had thought there would be no new faces tonight. How do you know Hannibal?”

Lecter answered, “He gave me crabs.”

He left a beat for Alana to choke on her beer and come perilously close to spitting it back out. Will was frozen in a moment of sheer unexpected embarrassment.

Lecter continued as though nothing of interest had happened.

“Will is a fisherman. He kindly intervened when I was sold seafood from a man with little care for his customer’s welfare. Will is why we will be able to enjoy our canapés this evening without any fear of harm.”

“You did that on purpose,” Will said with a frown.

Alana snorted.

“I don’t know what you mean, Will. If you would excuse me, I do believe more guests are arriving.” 

As Hannibal turned, the doorbell rang. Will flashed an angry look at Alana who laughed out loud.

“He must really like you, Will. Took me three years of working closely with him before I realised he had a terrible sense of humour. When did you meet?”

“Wednesday.”

Alana looked genuinely surprised but did her best to hide it.

Most of the other guests made less of an effort.

The Mitfords were a middle-aged high society couple who seemed entirely perplexed by Will’s presence. That was reasonable but their attempts to engage with him were clearly only to ingratiate themselves with Lecter. They saw him as someone invited for the sake of politeness. Or for pity. Or for a remarkably good deal on clams. Admittedly, as far as Will knew, that was exactly why he was here.

Frederick Chilton was yet another psychiatrist. He wore suits as outlandish as Lecter’s but lacked the charisma to make them appealing. Will thought Lecter wore foppishness to deflect from his strength of personality. In normal clothes, he would look dangerous. Chilton was trying to deflect from his lack of strength but it was a poor distraction. He clearly discounted Will’s importance with a quick flick of his eyes over his clothing and almost sneered when Mr Mitford threw in that Will was a fisherman.

“What a… useful occupation. Don’t know how you abide the smell of fish all day.”

Chilton had quickly found someone else to speak to. It would have been more galling if Will had any interest in the man. Alana mentioned he ran the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane in a tone of voice that quietly hinted at her opinion of how badly qualified he was for the job. He seemed a fine example of why Will didn’t care for psychiatrists.

The problem with Mrs Komeda was that she was too happy to see Will. Despite her husband being bed-ridden with a bad flare up of gout.

“He brings it on himself. Over-indulging, you know. And as grateful as I am to be at Hannibal’s table, it wouldn’t do Leo any favours. And what luck, it means I get a chance to meet you, Mr Graham.”

She looked over him with a lot more interest than Chilton.

“I’m a little surprised I haven’t heard of you before. Hannibal is a private man, no doubt, but he’s also a terrible show off. I would have thought if he was going to let his friends meet his handsome young paramour, it would be on his arm at the biggest function he could convince you to attend. You’d look wonderful in a tuxedo.”

Will was speechless for a few moments before he managed to say the only thing he could think of.

“We met on Wednesday.”

Mrs Komeda did not appear to take this as a denial of their relationship. Her pencilled eyebrow rose and her smile was utterly delighted. Will opened his mouth to try and extract himself out of whatever hole he was digging but Lecter interrupted by announcing dinner was ready.

At the dinner table, Will had the dubious honour of sitting at Dr Lecter’s right hand. He was grateful at least to find himself across from Alana. He had not had the chance to exchange more than introductions with the woman to his right or her husband across the table. Thankfully, neither Bella or Jack Crawford were psychiatrists. Will might have made a run for it.

“To start, oysters. These beautiful specimens are courtesy of our esteemed Mr Graham who was also kind enough to help me in their preparation. They are served with coconut cream, lychee and rose. Please, enjoy.”

Still panicked from his last conversation, Will gratefully ate in silence until Bella politely turned to him.

“So, Will. Is that a southern twang I can hear in your accent? Georgia?”

Will shook his head.

“A mix but Louisiana for the most part. I grew up all over, then I settled in New Orleans for a long time.”

“Oh, I love New Orleans,” said Bella. “Great music and such wonderful food. I don’t mean that as a slight, Hannibal. I am thoroughly enjoying myself.”

“No offence taken. I have never had the opportunity to visit New Orleans though I have always meant to. It’s an important cultural touchstone. One of the few cities in the world with such a strong identity that it is unique. You moved here recently, didn’t you Will? Do you miss it a great deal?”

Will did his best to ignore that he had the attention of the whole table at this point. Not everyone at the table was well-acquainted. He knew the Crawfords hadn’t been here before but no one knew him at all. He was the curiosity to stare at.

“I actually left New Orleans a few years ago, I’m just new to Baltimore. Worked my way north without really meaning to. Florida, Georgia, both Carolinas. I miss… some of it. But I don’t regret leaving.”

“You keep moving, do you think you’ll settle here?” Alana asked.

“Maybe just keep going until you reach Canada?” Jack added with a good humoured smile.

“If Dr Lecter keeps having dinner parties for me to supply, I’m sure I could afford to stick around.”

“Ah, then I shall have to make them a far more regular occurrence,” he replied with a wink.

Will could feel Mrs Komeda’s amusement from the other end of the table.

Will was able to stay out of the conversation for a time. While enjoying the main course of pork with artichoke, cherries and a red wine tapioca sauce, he learned that Jack and Bella met in Italy, back when she was a naval officer. Jack currently worked for the FBI as the head of their Behavioural Science Unit and had roped Alana in as a consultant on the recent Minnesota Shrike case. Chilton had consulted on a few FBI cases years ago. He was proud to include the Chesapeake Ripper case which hardly seemed worth bragging about when the killer had never been caught.

The Mitfords were keen to be reassured that the Shrike was close to being caught. After all, they had a niece that looked a lot like the victims. 

Will was happy to stay out of it until Chilton spoke over Alana with a dismissive wave of his hand when she reassured Mrs Mitford her niece was older than the victim profile and that there was no reason to think the killer sexually motivated.

“Please, Alana. He’s hardly snapping up pretty teenage girls to form a girl band. Text-book case. He’s punishing girls who remind him of his own social exclusion. He’s probably a similar age. One of them rejected him and he is trying to undo his perceived impotence by violating stand-ins for her. Just another gibbering psychopath with a fetish. He’s no Ripper.”

Will dropped his fork and took a deep breath to contain how angry he was.

“What’s wrong, Mr Graham? Weak stomach?” Chilton grinned.

“It’s not exactly ideal dinner conversation,” Bella said, tone clipped and eyes square on her husband. Jack gave a relaxed shrug. He may have brought up the Shrike but he hadn’t asked Chilton for his opinion.

Will couldn’t help himself.

“I think it’s tasteless. You’re insulting those girls and frankly, insulting the killer.”

“And what exactly does a fisherman know about the psychology of killers? There’s more to it than crime shows and murder mystery novels would have you believe.”

Chilton waved his fork dismissively, as though he had ended the conversation by reminding Will of his place.

“I certainly can’t speak for all fisherman but I know that if these murders had been sexually motivated, Elise Nicholls wouldn’t have been returned to her home as she was. From what the papers described, she was tucked in like a father putting his child to bed. I know that if someone is capable of abducting multiple girls in their late teens without being spotted, despite media-wide coverage of the very specific victim profile, then the killer is far too practiced to be a teenage boy and too well-organised and intelligent to be a ‘gibbering psychopath.’ The fact that you would use that kind of language and you’re in charge of a major mental health hospital is, frankly, terrifying.”

The table was silent and Will realised how he had gone much, much too far. There was a good reason he didn’t do dinner parties.

“Well, I don’t know about any of you,” Mrs Komeda said, “But I’m having a fantastic time.”

Dessert was a quiet affair over a baked rhubarb tart, orange and mint sugar with tonka bean cream and a sweet dessert wine. The Mitfords had the opportunity to enthuse about an upcoming gallery opening. Will concentrated on eating and resisting the temptation to drink away the rest of the night. The food was unsurprisingly perfect.

When the meal ended, Chilton was the first to leave with all the dignity of a sulking child. He seemed hopeful that the Crawfords would be leaving alongside him but they hung back. Bella wanted to speak to Hannibal about the flower arrangement on the table. It seemed to have horns in it. Jack cornered Will.

“You had some surprising insight in the Shrike case, Will.”

“I was a homicide detective for six years. Master’s degree in Forensic Science and Psychology. I have some experience of how killers think.”

“I doubt I would be allowed to rope you into anything in a professional capacity but I may have to pick your brain next time Dr Lecter treats us to dinner. I’m sure he’s told you, I’m trying to get him on the payroll to help us alongside Dr Bloom.”

“I, uh, didn’t know that.”

Jack gave him a fatherly slap on the arm.

“It would be a great favour to me if you pushed him into accepting the role. We’ll catch that son-of-a-bitch but the more people on the case, the better. Then we can get back to trying to catch the damn Ripper.”

Lecter escorted Bella back to her husband and it wasn’t long until everyone had left. The Mitfords left with a polite nod, Alana with a warm handshake and Mrs Komeda with an airy kiss to both of Will’s cheeks. She did the same to Lecter and as she turned to leave, said over her shoulder, “I mean it, Mr Graham. You’d look wonderful in a tuxedo.”

It was only as the door closed that Will realised he had somehow ended up as the last guest in the house and had shown no obvious signs that he intended to leave. Lecter didn’t seem to mind. He took gentle hold of Will’s elbow to steer him back to the living room.

“I think you have earned yourself a drink of your choice. Would I be correct to assume you favour whiskey?”

Lecter lifted out a crystal decanter from a liquor cabinet and waited for an answer.

“Uh, yes. Thank you.”

He poured out a generous measure into two tumblers before passing one to Will.

“I’m sorry. I was… rude to your friend.”

Lecter raised an eyebrow in question as he took a sip of his drink. Will did the same. It was the best whiskey he’d tasted in years.

“Your shadow. Chilton.”

Lecter sat by the fireplace and nodded at the seat across from him in invitation.

“Frederick is a colleague, not a friend. He has a habit of allowing his ego to get in the way of his manners so I think I can forgive you, Will.”

“If he’s not your friend, why keep him around? He’s insufferable. It didn’t seem like anyone else enjoyed his company either. Not that I’m one to talk.”

“I think you underestimate yourself, Will. You made quite the impression on most of my guests.”

“Your guests. The Crawfords are decent people. Jack is a little blunt but I could see you having a lot in common with Bella. Alana is charming. You genuinely like her and there is clearly history there. The Mitfords, you could take or leave but they appreciate your food and your good opinion. They are great for an ego boost at the very least. Mrs Komeda is an old friend, probably one of the few high society women who genuinely doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her. She is also convinced I’m sleeping with you.”

“Ah, I wasn’t aware. Does the accusation of homosexuality bother you or simply the sexual association with me?”

“You’re not as good of a liar as you think you are.” 

Lecter blinked in surprise. 

“Of course you were aware of her assumptions, she wasn’t exactly subtle. You don’t usually invite strangers to dinner never mind to dinner parties. You knew assumptions would be made. Even Alana seemed shocked. It was your own little personal amusement all night. Watch them wonder about the odd one out. Watch me and my growing discomfort.”

“It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable, Will.”

“I don’t like being lied to, Dr Lecter. It was one of many intentions and I’d say you deeply enjoyed it. There’s a reason you have a more infamous version of Leda and the Swan in your dining room, of all places. You like to watch people squirm. My God. That’s why you have Chilton around, isn’t it? You find it funny. Watching him preen and squawk nonsense like a goddamn peacock. Watch him inevitably get flustered and outraged because some fisherman is too proud to resist telling him off. And you just sit back and watch us dance.”

“A serious accusation, Will. It would suggest psychopathic tendency to manipulate. That would also make me a rather terrible friend. ”

Will grinned.

“If you were friends with him but you’re just colleagues. I think even Frederick knows that, deep down. No wonder he’s afraid of you.”

“I didn’t mean Frederick. I would like to be your friend. Though from that less than flattering picture you’ve painted of me, perhaps you don’t wish to be mine.”

Will set his empty glass down on a side table and walked carefully over to loom over Lecter who smiled up at him lazily, finishing his own glass.

“May I ask you about your insights into the Shrike case? I overheard you talking to Jack. Although your credentials are impressive, would I be correct in assuming there is more to it than that?”

This wasn’t what Will had planned on talking about. 

“What do you mean?”

“You may not always notice but when you’re engaged in a conversation, you mirror the person you’re speaking with. Body language, the stress and intonation of their speech. Facial expressions. You adapt all the more quickly on the few occasions you make solid eye contact.” 

Will made a point of locking eyes.

“You shouldn’t psychoanalyse at the dinner table, Dr Lecter.”

“We both observe. I can’t turn mine off any more than you can turn off yours. Pure empathy.”

Will’s knee hit against Lecter’s leg.

“An empathy disorder. I can take on another person’s mindset whether I want to or not. Feel what they’re feeling, think how they think.”

Lecter had put his jacket on before dinner. He looked pristine in his three piece suit. It was tempting to ruin that.

“You’re truly remarkable, Will. You have a wonderful gift and a heavy burden. I imagine seeing the worst of humanity and its victims as a police officer was not easy for you.”

Lecter’s hands slowly moved to Will’s hips. They didn’t pull him forward so much as suggest the movement. Will stepped close and bent down, pressing a slow kiss to Lecter’s closed lips. He pulled back just far enough to speak.

“The reason I stopped being a cop… A man with a knife, ready to cut me and anyone else in his way… I looked him in the eye and I felt exactly how angry he was, how cornered and desperate… I couldn’t shoot him, he stabbed me in the shoulder. The police don’t have much use for a detective who can’t pull a trigger.”

One of Lecter’s hands gripped his jaw and pulled him back into a kiss, more forceful than Will had been.

“So you isolate yourself. Minimise the chance of you sharing the mind of more violent men. You fish.” 

“So I fish. I knew how to fix most boat engines before I knew how to do long division. My dad taught me. He was a boat mechanic. We used to go fishing with his buddies. Didn’t matter where we ended up, he always found fishing buddies.”

“Friendship is important, Will. We’re social animals. Are you going to be my friend?”

“Is this how you make friends, Dr Lecter?”

They kissed again, more flirtatious than passionate, neither willing to deepen it much more, to be the first to give in.

“Not often, Will. Please, call me Hannibal.”

Will gently removed Hannibal’s hand from his jaw and straightened up with a sigh.

“How about you invite me for dinner without an audience next time? You could make me uncomfortable all on your own.” 

“I think I can manage that. Do you need to go?” 

Will ran his fingers through his hair. It would be interesting to stay. Terrifying too. Curiosity versus anxiety. And some deep-seated instinct telling him to run. Hannibal was a dandy and enjoyed petty manipulation but Will would feel something else there that gave him the impression of a predator. What won out in the end was family.

“My dogs. I’ve neglected them tonight. They’re already having a late dinner.”

“My fault for giving you a last minute invitation. I’ll be sure to give you plenty of advance notice next time. Shall I call you a cab?”

“Thank you. I might help myself to another drink while you’re at it.”

“Feel free. You’ve had an exciting day.”

Will poured himself three fingers of whiskey.

“Like I said. A narcissist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, the crab joke just sort of happened.
> 
> Hannibal canonically has a terrible sense of humour so I stand by it.
> 
> I'm posting this at midnight without a lot of sleep so apologies if mistakes, though thanks to my friends for beta-ing for me.
> 
> There will be a short chapter 3 as a sort of epilogue. With smut. I'll try for smut.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner, an invite, sex and a realisation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me longer than expected because of Real Life™ but hey it's longer than I had originally planned and smut happens. The quality of the smut cannot be guaranteed. If sex scenes aren't your bag, that bit begins and ends with ** and can be avoided.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Will soon found out that the schedule of a well-renowned psychiatrist and socialite was busier than he had hoped. It was all the worse as Hannibal accepted Jack Crawford’s offer to take on consultant work. For five weeks, there just wasn’t the opportunity for a private dinner together. The silver lining was that, in the mean time, Hannibal made it a habit to visit the farmer’s market on Wednesday mornings and he never arrived empty handed. Each time, he brought Will a container full of home-cooked breakfast and a thermos of his own blend of coffee. Will had been reluctant to accept it on the first occasion but didn’t both to protest beyond that. It would have been rude. Besides, the food was always delicious and the coffee was the best he had ever tasted. The conversation was even more welcome.

Will had always been attracted to the darker parts of life. Equal parts horrified and fascinated. It was one of the reasons he had joined the police force and one of the reasons he left. It wasn’t good for him to see criminals and thugs every day when he found it more appealing to empathise with them than their victims. It was too easy to choose their feelings of power and rage over that of powerlessness and fear. He was better off on his boat, alone with his own feelings unmuddied.

Hannibal wasn’t put off by dark conversation topics, always ready to parry with something even darker. They picked apart the symbolism in the Chesapeake Ripper’s kills and the likely end of the Shrike case. Will told stories of the unforgiving nature of the sea and Hannibal told stories of surgical theatres and European cities. Hannibal didn’t care if Will couldn’t meet his eyes consistently. He didn’t pity Will for being awkward. He didn’t treat him as though he was a freak or as if he was fragile. He poked, prodded and challenged him and all the while kept his own emotions so in check that Will didn’t feel himself slipping into someone else’s skin.

When they were eventually able to have dinner again, it was far more comfortable than the party. There was a quiet frisson of tension that didn’t have the chance to amount to much. Hannibal had a flight to Minnesota in the morning and their conversation didn’t venture much beyond murder. It was only as Will was leaving, as he watched Hannibal retrieve his coat, that his patience broke and he pushed Hannibal against the wall of the foyer to kiss him. He pulled back, ready to be humiliated for being so crass. So obvious. But Hannibal grinned, all sharp teeth and teasing.

“It’s a shame you can’t stay longer.”

Will slumped his head onto Hannibal’s shoulder with a small groan.

“This is your fault. Trying to save lives. Selfish of you.”

Hannibal wrapped an arm around his shoulders and dropped a kiss in his curls. Will felt so overwhelmingly safe he could barely breathe.

“Truly terrible of me,” Hannibal said. Will could hear his smile. “I’m only in it for the glory, of course.”

Will lifted his head high enough to brush his mouth against Hannibal’s throat and speak low in his ear.

“You do it because you’re curious. And you like watching the FBI scramble around in the dark, not one of them quite able to keep up with you.”

Hannibal’s hold squeezed tight for a moment.

“Will.”

His voice was lower, he caught Will’s lips with his own, his hand grasping the back of his head to kiss him with more deeply. When they broke apart, Will laughed.

“Psychoanalysis really does it for you, huh?”

“Everyone wants to be known, Will. A true connection through understanding. You see more than most and you don’t flinch from the unconventional.”

Hannibal pecked Will on the lips twice more and carefully pushed him back.

“I think you should leave before I change my mind. My flight is very early. Before you go, however, I wanted to ask if you would be willing to join me at the opera?”

“To be paraded in front of your high-flying friends?”

“To enjoy a lauded production of Turandot. To meet some of my acquaintances. And to spend time together.”

“I’m betting there’s a dress code?”

“The tickets will be for six weeks time. I will send you a text message tomorrow with the address of an excellent tailor, Monsieur Pelletier.”

Will sighed and put on his coat.

“I blame your friend Komeda for this. A tuxedo?”

“Black tie would be expected.”

“From your acquaintances, at least.”

“I have taken the liberty of speaking to Pelletier already. He knows what would suit the occasion and I trust him to know what will suit you. Whatever the cost, I have already taken care of it.”

Will was speechless for a moment, uncertain if he was more insulted by the presumption of his agreeing to the suit or for Hannibal’s paying for it.

“I don’t - I don’t like charity.”

“It’s hardly that. You would be doing my a great favour by accompanying me. It would be rather crude of me to force you into a position where it cost you to do so.”

“This is another favour with a favour attached, Hannibal. One riding in on another’s coat tails and this time it may actually involve coat tails. You’re making a habit of this.”

“You’re under no obligation, Will.”

Hannibal’s expression was clear and innocent. An expression Will knew was a mask and a manipulation. People rarely argued with that face, it would be unreasonable to do so. Will considered arguing just to see what would happen. It didn’t seem worth it.

“Buy the tickets. I’ll make an appointment with your fancy French tailor. I reserve the right to hate the opera. And all your acquaintances.”

Hannibal opened the front door for him.

“That’s the spirit,” he said with a warm smile.

Hannibal held himself just out of reach, Will would have to lunge for another kiss. The smug look on Hannibal’s face reminded him to keep what dignity he could.

“Good night, Will.”

 

 

 

The Shrike case had ended in a blood bath a few days before their night at the opera. The killer was tracked down by the busy work of the FBI, weeks of pouring through files of workmen only to find Garret Jacob Hobbs with his wife’s blood on his hands and a knife to his daughter’s throat. None of the Hobbs family survived. Will had been right, the daughter was the image of the man’s victims.

Waiting for Hannibal to retrieve coffee from the kitchen, Will stared into the fireplace with a frown. The image of  Liù stabbing herself on stage blurred with a Minnesotan teenage girl clutching her bloody throat. Dying for the sake of love. 

“Ellen was right.”

Will flinched, he had been deeper in his own head than he had thought. Turning from the fire, he saw Hannibal has stopped in the open doorway, a mug in each hand. 

“Ellen?”

“Mrs Ellen Komeda. You do look wonderful in a tuxedo.”

Will sighed. It had been a hell of an experience getting the damn thing made. As professional as Hannibal’s tailor was, Will could live happily without ever having his personal space invaded to that extent ever again.

“You don’t look too bad yourself. But you knew that already.”

Will took an offered cup of Irish coffee. It smelt like whiskey and caramel and tasted like a dream.

“Have you been imagining me dressed up like this since she said that?”

Hannibal took his time sipping his drink, making Will wait. Flirting didn’t come naturally to Will which Hannibal had quickly noticed. Letting him stew in silence after he attempted to flirt was a little form of torture Hannibal seemed to truly relish. He had done it enough that Will was only slightly anxious on this occasion. He could see the smile in Hannibal’s eyes.

“Yes,” Hannibal said, his voice low and promising. “I had imagined it. And… other states of dress.”

Will was a little concerned he was blushing and drank more coffee to distract himself. He needed the Dutch courage.

“Where were you as you stared into the flames, Will? You looked very far away.”

“I keep thinking about the Shrike’s daughter. I don’t know how you’re processing it all.”

“I have met with a wide range of tragedies in my professional life, such is the nature of both surgery and psychiatry. In the former, those tragedies were very final. In the latter, I try to help survivors, to watch them suffer through the effects of trauma and do their best to carry on. Neither is easy. All the same, one must compartmentalise.”

“The rather bloody nature of tonight’s show brought it to mind. Who knew opera was so morbid.”

“Did you enjoy tonight’s performance?”

Will finished his drink as he considered exactly how truthful to be. Hannibal appreciated honesty but not rudeness and Will occasionally found himself struggling to see the line between the two.

“I didn’t dislike it but I don’t think opera is for me. Everything is too grand, too far removed from reality. I enjoyed seeing you enjoy it. You aren’t usually so easy to read. And I also enjoyed your performance.”

Hannibal took the mug from Will’s hands and set both of them carefully aside.

“My performance?”

Will stepped close, not quite kissing Hannibal’s jaw but brushing his mouth against him. Hannibal’s hands fell to Will’s sides and slid down to his hips.

“Like your little dinner party writ large. You make them all feel honoured to have your respect even when they don’t have it. There were a few people you respect, some you tolerate and a number of people you wouldn’t piss on if they were on fire.”

“Crude, Will.”

Will brought his mouth just before Hannibal’s.

“I think sometimes you like me crude.”

Hannibal appeared to hesitate, whether to deny Will as punishment or give in and indulge. He caught Will up in a quick kiss and then stepped back.

“Are staying the night as the dogs are being well cared for? The guest room is ready if needed.”

Will laughed nervously.

“If needed. Let’s presume I am staying. What if I don’t want to stay in the guest room?”

“I pride myself in being a good host, I can of course take the guest room and give you free reign of my own.”

Hannibal smiled politely. Nearly professional looking. Absolutely infuriating. Will gritted his teeth.

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

“Say what, Will?”

The very idea of Dr Hannibal Lecter playing dumb was ridiculous. It was hard not to laugh.

“You have no idea how tempted I am to call your bluff. Push you out of your inner sanctum. You are risking your most private space being at the mercy of drunk fisherman with no appreciation for the finer things.”

“You are hardly drunk, Will, and you have appreciation for things you deem as worthy. Regardless, are you suggesting there is another possibility for our sleeping arrangements?”

Will ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his neck.

“Ridiculous,” he said with a sigh. He took a deep breath, he stepped toward Hannibal again and made sure to meet his eyes fully.

“I want to go to bed with you.”

Will put himself flush against Hannibal, one hand snaking up his chest and to his shoulder and pressing the other man into him. “How does that make you feel, Doctor?”

Hannibal kissed him again, still brief and chaste.

“Gratified,” Hannibal said, sharp teeth visible in his smile.

“You arrogant - ”

Hannibal cut him off with another kiss, deeper and hungrier. When Hannibal bothered to speak again, his voice was barely a whisper.

“I trust you can put out the fire. Allow me at least ten minutes. Then come upstairs.”

Will swallowed. Nerves were creeping back.

“Do you secretly have a messy room?” he asked, his voice not as light as he had hoped. “You need time to hide the underwear of other conquests littering the floor?”

“Since I have already promised not to psychoanalyse you, I will refrain from pointing out your habit of using attempts at humour to deflect from what actually is concerning you.”

“Attempts? Aren’t you generous,” Will muttered, breaking away to deal with the fire. “I’ll see you upstairs.”

“At least ten minutes, Will.”

 

**

 

In the shower, Hannibal thought of the aria _Tu che di gel sei cinta_. During tonight’s performance, he had been overcome with the perfection of the soprano’s voice. As she sang, he felt tears in his eyes and Will’s hand gripping his. He did not look away from the stage but squeezed Will’s fingers in acknowledgement. That moment of overwhelming beauty was set aside in his mind, perfectly preserved. Entranced by music, tethered to the corporal only by the touch of Will’s calloused hands. He thought of Will’s hands as he lubricated his fingers and prepared himself.

It was obvious from what Will had told him, and neglected to tell him, that he had little sexual experience with men and that was a cause of some of his insecurities. In general, Will’s prickliness was as appealing as every other part of him but tonight Hannibal wanted Will to be comfortable. It encourage him to want physical intimacy between them as a regular occurrence. There would be time to wind him up and watch him go when he was more secure in their relationship.

As Hannibal added a third finger inside himself, he thought of a whiskey warm mouth, sweeter for its contrast to its usual sharpness. There was all the more pleasure in Will’s softness for it being hard earned. He stopped soon after, impatient for Will to join him.

He towelled off and strode into his bedroom without bothering to cover himself. Will was already perched on the side of the bed, tuxedo in place except the bowtie which hung loose around his collar.

“Hello, Will.”

Will’s eyes dropped to take in all of Hannibal and he felt himself straighten and preen a little at the attention. Will stood and removed his jacket.

“Is now a bad time to say I don’t really know what I’m doing?”

Hannibal went to him to take his jacket and caress his arm in gentle admonishment. He would prefer to unwrap Will himself.

“I assumed as much,” Hannibal said as he removed the silk cummerbund from Will’s waist before he began unbuttoning his shirt.

“To be honest, I never even thought I was interested in men until now.”

It was somewhat juvenile but it gave Hannibal a thrill of pleasure that he was a first for Will. Being exceptional was always something to take pride in.

“You are not obliged to do anything, Will. I would prefer nothing at all happened between us rather than something you will regret.”

Will’s chest was smooth, muscular and nearly hairless. Hannibal pressed a quick kiss to his collarbone and resisted the temptation to bite into him. To bruise. Mark him. To make his own presence known to his body. There would be plenty of time for that if Will was amenable. He delicately removed the cufflinks at Will’s wrist and pulled the shirt from him entirely before taking it aside to hang over a chair, allowing Will a moment to consider what he wanted to happen next.

When Hannibal returned to him, Will had removed his shoes and socks and stood frozen holding them.

“Will?”

“I want to… I want to have sex with you. What are your… preferences?”

Hannibal took shoes and socks and set them aside.

“You’re a deeply attractive man, Will.”

He crowded Will towards to bed until he was pinned against its edge.

“But your approach to romance is a little prosaic.”

Hannibal then knelt down, hands trailing a firm grip from Will’s hips, down his thighs and up again to undo the button and zipper of his pants.

“I would like you to penetrate me, Will.”

He pulled the pants down to his knees with a fluid motion and looked up at Will’s face. He was flushed but from the slight tenting of his boxers, Hannibal was confident it was as much from arousal as self-consciousness. Hannibal pushed Will back gently to request for him to move. In a fit of confidence, Will pulled his boxers down and slumped back on the bed, kicking both boxers and pants from his feet. Hannibal sighed and stood up.

“I think it best you grow more comfortable with our being intimate before experimenting with entirely new experiences.”

“I have been penetrated before,” Will said with a frown of thought. He scooted back across the bed to allow Hannibal room. Hannibal’s eyes trailed across his body and he crawled over the mattress toward him. So many aspects of him were terribly distracting. The sharp angle of his jaw. The impressive muscle of his arms. The fine wrists and hands. The faint, dark trail of hair from Will’s stomach down to the dark thatch surrounding his cock.

“A college girlfriend. She liked the idea of it more than the act itself. Only happened twice I think. Should I… should I shower? I probably smell like anxiety.”

Hannibal lowered himself to kiss a trail from Will’s knee and up his inner thigh as he gently squeezed Will’s cock in one hand and felt it swell.

“No. You smell like yourself. I prefer you this way.”

He reached over to the bedside table and retrieved a condom and lubricant.

“Organised as always,” Will said, his hands clenching against the sheets.

“It pays to be prepared.”

Hannibal slicked up his hand and returned to Will’s cock, stroking it firmly, watching it flush a darker hue. It was a shame there would have to be a barrier between them for now. He neatly rolled the condom on him then allowed himself to properly indulge. He kissed and gently bit a path down from Will’s throat, chest and stomach before taking the head of Will’s cock into his mouth. His tongue teased lightly and his hand moved to caress his testicles. Will’s groan of surprise made him greedy and he took more of him and sucked hard, cheeks hollowed. Will’s hand grasped his hair and pulled him off.

“God… too much. I would prefer not to humiliate myself just now. What should I do? If I’m going to… What do you need me to do?”

A thousand possibilities and each one as appealing as the last.

“If you will sit against the headboard for me, I will straddle you. In that position, I can lead our movements and easily provide guidance. Should you grow more confident and desire to be more assertive, you can take control.”

Will licked his lips and nodded.

“Okay, okay.”

He shuffled quickly into position.

“Eager, Will?” Hannibal asked as he pumped more lubricant on to his fingers.

“We can stop if you’re not interested,” he growled out in reply.

“Now, now. I would never criticise you for enthusiasm.”

Hannibal moved to kneel over Will’s lap, one arm braced on the wall while he finished working himself open with his other hand. He heard Will quietly swear before reaching up to drag nails through Hannibal’s chest hair. Will’s curls were a wild tangle, his lips a bright red, his pupils dilated with only a slither of steely blue visible. Hannibal lost patience and took a firm hold of Will’s cock, taking a deep breath and lowering himself down. Vaguely, he felt Will’s fingers dig into his thighs and his low groan but only vaguely as he concentrated on getting the head of Will’s cock inside him.

“Patience, Will. It’s been some years since I’ve done this.”

“Whatever you need,” Will gasped.

Hannibal managed to get half of his cock in comfortably and waited a few moments before rolling his hips, taking more of Will with each downward movement. He couldn’t help himself from touching’s Will’s face, his hair, his shoulders and taut arms. Intense pleasure suited him so well. The tendons of his throat stood out, his teeth flashed white in the low light, his eyes hooded and animal. Hannibal felt tears in his eyes for the second time this evening.

“Beautiful.”

Will smiled, a little softer at the edges.

“You didn’t want me like this so I could choose to control you. You wanted to see.”

Hannibal grasped his hair tight and pulled his head back to keep Will’s eyes locked with his own.

“Who could blame me?”

Will took a firm hold of Hannibal’s hips and thrust up in a sharp rhythm.

“Will. _Will._ That’s it _._ ”

Hannibal stroked his own cock while moving to meet Will’s thrusts, overwhelmed. He could hear an aria. It wasn’t long before Will came with a growling cry, falling back against the head board, his hips grinding up. The image of him glistening with sweat and consumed by his orgasm brought Hannibal over the edge with abrupt violence, his come staining Will’s chest and stomach. It thrilled Hannibal all over again with a dark, possessive warmth.

 

**

 

Will woke up to clear light breaching the room, too warm and bright to be early morning. He squinted to the open curtains and could make out Hannibal’s silhouette against the daylight.

“What time is it?”

“Almost midday. I’ve made brunch.”

Will draped an arm over his eyes and felt the muscles in his back and thighs ache.

“Do I need to get dressed?”

“No, but the house may be a little cool to be entirely nude. I can offer you a robe.” He felt Hannibal’s hand on his stomach and he flinched, not having heard him move closer. He peeked out from behind his arm.

“I should shower first.”

Hannibal moved his arm out of the way fully. He looked soft in a sweater and no shirt. In three piece suits or stripped bare, he had looked dangerous but it was hard to believe that when he was in cashmere with his hair loose in his eyes.

“Shower after. Let me enjoy you as you are.”

Will laughed.

“Stinking of sex?”

Hannibal kissed him and Will wondered if he could be convinced back in to bed. It didn’t seem likely if he wanted to feed Will.

“You can shower after.”

They ate sitting close together at the dining table, Will dressed only in a black silk robe. After finishing, Will stared out into the beautiful clear sky as he nursed his third cup of coffee and Hannibal read on his tablet.

Will felt more relaxed than he had in years. He didn’t notice Hannibal’s frown straight away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ah. Some alarming news.”

Hannibal passed his tablet across to Will. He recognised the garish red of the headline.

“TattleCrime?”

Will was about to tease Hannibal for his taste in reading but the grainy photo of a kitchen covered in blood shut his mouth and he read the title and soon the entirety of the short, disturbing article. The FBI had arrested Frederick Chilton. He had snapped and killed three agents and two police officers. He was the Chesapeake Ripper.

“Chilton? He isn’t… wasn’t…”

It didn’t make sense. That snide little man who couldn’t bear to speak politely to a fisherman wasn’t the Ripper.

“I am as shocked as you. I’ve known Frederick for many years, I would have never thought him capable of such horror.”

Will reread the article.

“Lounds points out he fits the profile. White male, surgical experience, approaching middle age, upper crust, enjoys the arts. Access to the FBI’s information back when he used to consult.”

“A profile that fits myself just as well.”

Will looked up at Hannibal. He looked concerned but it didn’t ring true.

“No offence but I’d have an easier time believing your were the Ripper than Chilton.”

Hannibal was always a very still and controlled man but somehow, in that moment, he seemed more immovable than he ever had before.

“In what sense?” he asked.

Will felt the answer was deeply, terribly important. He wasn’t sure how Hannibal wanted him to answer so he was honest.

“You’re physically stronger, you’re smarter. You genuinely understand people while he was a hack. You can create beautiful things, you do it every day. And you have a darkness about you. A dangerous edge hidden underneath the wool and the tweed.”

Hannibal tilted his head ever so slightly.

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“It’s not, it’s an observation but you like it.”

He did like it. There was a ghost of a smile on his face and Will felt a nudge of Hannibal’s leg against his own before he stood and cleared the last of the dishes.

“This is all very shocking. I shall have to speak to Jack about it. And Alana.”

Will felt a slow creep of alarm wash over him. Chilton was many things. He was no practiced killer. Even as Hannibal did the most domestic of tasks, he moved like a predator. He could talk about death in all forms without flinching. He saw the ugliest parts of Will and accepted him. Eagerly. Gleefully. Will looked back to the window and took a deep, steadying breath and let the alarm and fear bleed out from him. Choices had to be made.

He went to the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s waist and kissed him, with tongue and teeth and aching. Hannibal hummed happily into the kiss.

“The Ripper’s been caught. As… shocking as all of this is for you, can I be selfish enough to ask if that means you will have more free time now?”

“I suppose I will,” Hannibal replied, nuzzling the side of his face.

“And Jack might leave you alone.”

“Mmhm.” Hannibal’s hands found the tie of Will’s robe and undid it. Will took his hands in his own to stop them exploring further.

“Hannibal, I see you.”

Hannibal stared at him and seemed to be waiting for something. For fear. For accusations. Will kissed him again.

“I need to check in on the dogs, I’m going to be late if I leave it much longer. Will you come home with me? My bed’s not as good but-”

Hannibal pressed him into the counter, a hand around his throat but not pressing, or bruising.

“Will.”

His voice trembled. He didn’t seem able to say anything else but there was enough in that word.

“Let me get dressed and we’ll go. I know Buster will be glad to see you. Don’t pretend he isn’t your favourite.”

Hannibal huffed a gentle laugh and nodded, his hand loosening and fell to grasp Will’s shoulder.

“You are an exceptional creature.”

Will shook his head.

“No, Hannibal. I’m just a fisherman.”

 


End file.
